by Hugo de Mare

Man, I broke up with this girl and she tried to fuck her way back into my heart. What a waste of time.

She obviously didn’t know me at all. If she had any idea how much I hated sex she would have chosen another tactic. “I’ll show him what he’s missing.”

Please. I’ll tell you what I’m missing–I’m missing masturbating in peace to the thought of a woman a lot more attractive than you.  I’m missing shooting a load without the guilt of failing to have satisfied someone, that’s what I’m missing. I’m missing falling asleep once the demon’s out of me rather than having to pretend I’m awake enough or interested enough to talk.

“Once I’ve had my way with him, he’ll see he won’t want to be without me.” Don’t embarrass yourself. Have a little less faith in the hypnotic powers of your vagina. Save your energy, save your pride, and cover up. The quickest way to my heart is not via my tiny ineffective penis, and a blow job doesn’t mean our problems go away, it just means you’ve got a dick in your mouth.You want to know the quickest way to my heart? Bubblebath. Write it down. Bubblebath. You want me to stick around, you give me bubblebath. And not that fancy aroma therapy aloe ginseng bullshit, either. If you can’t buy it at Kmart, I don’t want it touching my skin. I don’t want it to exfoliate, or moisturize, or medicate, or heal. I want it to burn the dirt off me, like I’m marinating in acid. I want to feel my skin dissolving. And it better be eye irritant–if I’m stupid enough to get that shit in my eyes or in my nose or in my mouth, I want it to poison me, teach me a lesson. And don’t bring me a bottle with flowery descriptions of ‘active ingredients’ and pastoral images of waterfalls and leaves and expect me to jump into bed with you. I want a cartoon character and the promise of fun. I want some Mr. Bubble, the Budweiser of bubblebaths. While we’re on the subject, if you had a shower that ran Budweiser instead of water, then maybe we’d have a future together. Give me a Budweiser shower and an endless supply of Mr. Bubble and I’d swear to never leave you. I’d even do a convincing job of asking you how your day was. And believe me, it’s not cause I care, it’s cause I don’t ever want you to stop paying the water bill. See? I need you. I’m yours. How hard was that?